Addicting
by Gabrielle Angelina
Summary: Hermione’s friends are dead, and she must do what she can to stay alive and live, but she does it in the most drastic way ever. Twelve years later, she’s still doing what she started and Blaise Zabini makes her leave itto come work for him.Warnings: Prost
1. Leaving

It can be addicting after a while. I'm not proud of my line of work, but I'm not afraid to admit why I started up with it and it's been twelve long years since I started. I don't enjoy the men coming in, touching me, doing all their kinks and twisted funs. But the money is addicting, and so are the drugs and smoke and the smell that is surrounding this whole building, inside out. When I started, I had no choice. I was starving. My friends were dead, and I had no money.

Every sick and indecent pureblood wizard has come into my room and had their way with me, some muttering about how I was lucky they were fucking me because I'm just a disgusting Mudblood bitch who wants a dick in her.

I've never replied to the insults, though I've bitten through my lip from keeping myself from doing so. I lie there listlessly, only moaning and crying out when they tell me.

I've long since have gotten the money I need to start a new life. Two years since then. By now, though, I'm a well-known Knockturn Alley whore, someone who will let you do anything, and I won't do a thing. Whip me, spank me, tie me up, I never complain because I feel guilty, and I want to die.

Maybe I hope that one of these days, someone will go too far and cut me too deep with a carving knife, or accidentally cut one of my veins so I'll bleed to death.

"Granger."

I turn around to look at the man behind me and I raise my eyebrow questionably.

"It's time to leave."

I don't know what makes me pick up the small sack I always said I would use the day that I would go. Maybe it's the commanding tone in his voice, the one I only heard him use once. Maybe it's the way his nose wrinkles in disgust as he looks around my room. Blood is on the walls and on the colorful drapes and furniture. Or maybe it's the way he glares at the pile of money that is on my bedside table from my last customer.

As I stand beside him, he takes off his coat and puts it over me. And when I look up at him in question, he meets my eyes with his hard cold chocolate eyes. "You're indecent to be seen in public. This will at least cover your body."

I don't reply with what used to be my customary reply, I just look straight ahead. My boss protests when he sees me leave, but the man beside me glares at him long and hard.

I know it's not because he cares about me. It's not because he loves me, or wants me to be better off. It's about him having someone indebted to him. I know the way he works, I've heard about him. It changes nothing, because whatever reason he's doing this, he's giving me the strength to leave.


	2. Trying to Speak

I'm right, of course. He expects me to sleep with him whenever he wishes. I'm still a worthless whore, but I'm in different clothing and he's soft and careful when he touches me. When I first came here, he demanded that I clean myself up, especially on the inside of me where men put themselves, and I stood there silently as the house elves scrubbed me raw and red.

I sit in my elegant room in my elegant dressing gown in front of an elegant makeup table with a huge mirror on it when he enters the room, and I look into the mirror at some invisible thing behind me.

"You could say no," he says.

I don't reply, because I don't talk. He doesn't give me payment because he gives me payment enough by giving me room and board so I do not complain. I haven't spoken since before he brought me here six months ago.

"Speak!" he commands.

I try, but when I move my mouth, nothing comes out but a cracking sound and I close it again.

"How long has it been since you last spoke?" He finally asks.

I manage a small shrug. I lower my gaze to my lap and when I feel his hands on my shoulders, I jump.

He slowly kneads my shoulders, and although it feels good, I resist the urge to drop my head back against his stomach. If I do, it shows I want, and that's something I don't think he should know, because I'm an unfeeling thing, someone who doesn't deserve good things.

I stiffen when I realize I'm thinking exactly what the men who played with me said. Suddenly it becomes clear that I've been brainwashed and there's nothing I can do to escape it.

He stops and I look at him through the mirror and I think he sees the fire in my eyes because he lets go of my shoulders. He doesn't move away but he no longer has contact with my body. I reach for the silver handled brush and pull it through my hair, yanking at the knots, uncaring of it my hair comes out because of it.

When I stand up, he closes his hands around my hips and turns me around to face him before leaning down to kiss me. I wait a few moments before reaching up and slapping him. He pulls back in surprise, but gives me a smirk.

"Finally," he whispers. I don't know what he's talking about, and I don't care.

I feel like for the first time I'm thinking for myself. I brush past the scared house elf, and hurry down the marble stairs and I go into the kitchen. I don't hesitate to reach into the icebox and take out a huge tub of chocolate ice cream, and then a spoon. I sit at the table and scoop it out before putting it in my mouth and sucking on the spoon because I want every small drop of ice cream off of it.


	3. Pregnant

I'm late for my monthly. That is the first thing I notice when I look at the calendar. I try to remember a time when I didn't use the spell on myself, and the only time that comes up is the time two weeks ago when he came home drunk. It was the only time he'd ever been anything but gentle with me. When I realize that I could be two weeks pregnant, I curl up on my bed and, for the first time in almost thirteen years, I want to cry.

He knocks on the door and comes in. He wants to know why I'm crying, and I just shake my head in reply.

He demands that I speak, and I find myself once again trying to obey him.

I finally get a word out, which is 'I' and it comes out cracked and broken. He nods his encouragement and I cry all the harder.

He does the most surprising thing. He gathers me up in his arms and holds me. I think that he wants to have sex, and I try to push away, wondering how he could even want to when I'm in such a state, but he holds me tighter and rests his chin atop my head.

My hands curl around his shirt and I have it in a death grip. I'm getting his shirt wet, too, with my tears, but he doesn't seem to mind.

How can he be so caring and yet so heartless at the same time, I wonder.

In my bathroom chambers I'm sitting in front of the toilet, trying to keep my hair out of my face, when he comes in. I look up at the door before vomiting, and I feel drops of toilet water splash my face.

He sits beside me and holds my hair while doing what any husband would do. He rubs my back reassuringly, says it will be all right, but he's not my husband and I wonder why he's acting like this.

I've been puking every day for a week now, though this is the first time he's seen me vomit and he probably thinks I'm just ill.

"Are you alright?" he asks after a few moments go by that I've not been retching.

I nod before standing up and going to the sink to clean off any food remains and the toilet water. I see the tears in my eyes but quickly brush them away.


	4. Leaving the Zabini Banner

It's been two months since I found out I was pregnant. He doesn't know, because I won't let him find out, at least not yet. There's a small mound right below my stomach and it seems to get bigger every day.

I don't know why I don't get rid of the child, what have I got to offer it? But something keeps me from doing so, and I don't dwell on it.

I've started speaking again, but my voice sounds cracked and husky from lack of use. He doesn't mind, but I think there's more to that.

I've caught him looking at me like he's trying to reveal a mystery, or solve a puzzle. And there's another look in his eyes that seem soft and tender, and I wonder if he knows about the baby growing in my belly.

I am dressing when he comes into my room without notice and I quickly hide my stomach from him. He looks down, and back up, and then back down again, before his eyes lock with mine.

"Are you pregnant?" he demands.

I just stare at him, unable to answer.

"Well?" he asks loudly, and I flinch.

"Whose baby is it? Whose?"

I jump before going over to my bed and standing beside it, putting a barrier between us.

He notices, and he effectively traps me by coming around the bed to stand in front of me.

"You best tell me, woman, before I do something I regret." He says it in a fierce whisper, one I've never heard him use before.

I stare up at him, knowing fear is in my eyes, and he growls before throwing me on the bed.

He pins me under him, only me not clothed, and glares at me like I've done some horrible crime. He'll rape me, I know it, and he'll make me lose the child. The very thought brings tears to my eyes and makes them slide down the sides of my cheeks into my hair.

I see his gaze soften for one moment before reverting back to its coldness.

I find somewhere in my heart to speak, because I know if I don't, then I'm going to lose the baby, and perhaps I'll die as well. "Get off of me," I whisper.

"What?" he asks.

"Get off of me," I say, looking up at him with determination in my eyes. "And let me get dressed, and then I'll tell you."

He complies but stands closely to me as I put on robes, as if I have some weapon to hurt him with.

I sit back on the bed tracing the pattern with my gaze. "I'm pregnant," I finally say. "Two months and two weeks."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands.

I find the courage to glare at him. "Why? Because you'd demand that I kill the baby, that's why. Or marry you so you won't have an illegitimate child. What choice did I have, honestly?" It's the most I've spoken since I came here, maybe because I had no need before.

"We are getting married," he said abruptly. "The latter reason you were absolutely correct. That's the end of the story."

"We are not," I whisper. "Because if you try to force me to marry you, I'll leave before I have this baby, I swear I will. And I'll raise it alone, just like I was planning to do."

"And do what?" he asks. "Become a Knockturn Alley slag again? Something you already are?"

I feel the pain pierce through my heart as he calls me what I already know I am. A whore, someone who gets paid to have sex, to do what anyone wants. I look away, resigned, defeated.

"Get out," I whisper brokenly.

He leaves without a word and slams the door for effect.


	5. Having the Baby

I leave that night, and I don't look back. I keep a dark cloak over myself and I run as far away from the huge manor before Apperating.

I scream as pain pierces through my body and I push while holding the bed rails, my back arching as another contraction passes through my body. I pant as the pain subsides and the mediwitch tells me I'm doing really well. Three hours pass and I'm having trouble with the birth. The nurses don't say so, but I can tell by their worried gazes, I can tell because I can feel it. I feel another contraction rack my body and I scream again and push. I feel a sharp pain at down there and the nurses tell me I have a tear, but the baby's head is out. I gasp and one of the nurses grabs my arms and tells me to push as hard as I can and the baby will come out.

I'm about to when I hear, "Sir, you can't go in there! The woman is birthing her child right now and---"

The double doors burst open and I see him. It's been six months and I feel more tears stream down my eyes. I didn't want him to find me, I didn't---don't. But as I feel another contraction take my body over in pain I push as hard as I can and I feel the baby slide out.

"Sir! You have to leave!" He ignores them and looks at the baby. One of the nurses slap the baby's bottom and it cries out. I don't know the sex yet, but after it's cleaned up and it's lungs are cleared out of all fluid, a nurse lifts the baby into my arms and tells me he's a boy. I look down at him. He has dark skin, like his father, but just a tone lighter, and when he opens his eyes I see my eyes staring back at me.

I still have tears falling down my face and when they drip onto my little boy, he squeals in anger. I wipe them off gently without looking at the man who's just a few steps away.

"You have to leave, sir," one of the mediwitches says. "This mother and child have to have rest and---"

"He's my son and I'll stay," he replies.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Blaise Zabini."

"Her last name is Granger," the nurse says triumphantly.

"We're not married," he returns. "She ran off before that was possible."

"Well she has the first right to the child and regardless of if you're the father or not you leave if she doesn't want you here."

Everyone looks over at me. I don't want him to stay, but he is the father, and I feel he should have just a few minutes with his son. "Just for a little bit," I manage. He walks closer, but doesn't touch me. Instead, I can feel him stare at me and the newborn in my arms.

He asks me to marry him and I tell him no, and when he asks why I tell him the truth. I tell him the only reason he wants me to marry him is because of Jason. That's what I decided to name him, Jason Blaithe.

He doesn't reply that it's not because of the baby, but because he loves me, and I respect that he doesn't lie to me. He says that it may be because of Jason but also because he cares what happens to me, and that I'd be happy.

I reply that I would be in a prison. And that's the truth. I would be in a prison.


	6. A New Beginning

When I get out of the hospital, he doesn't protest when I tell him I'm not going back to his Manor.

He says he'll be around, because he won't have his son wondering where his father is, if he's alive, or if he loves him. I tell him I understand, and I won't try to stop him because I know what's right.

When he tells me he'll support me and Jason, I tell him I make my earnings and he glares at me before asking what I'm doing for a living. I tell him I working as a waitress in the Leaky Cauldron.

It's honest work, and with the money I made during my time in the whorehouse, I would be able to live well, though not expensively.

"Goodbye, Granger," he says.

"Bye," I whisper. I'm very surprised when he pulls me in for a kiss that I don't try to escape, but I respond to. It's the first kiss I've had willingly, first one I enjoyed. He pulls away, remembering the baby between us, I guess, and takes the baby from my arms to hold him and kiss him on his crown. He hands Jason back to me, and then he leaves.

I start to wonder if I made the right decision, not marrying him. But I won't beg him to take me, because my pride gets in the way. So I start home, knowing I should expect him to come calling on some days.


End file.
